Herna

Вы — молодой дворянин, брошенный в новую жизнь в красивом, хоть и уединённом, особняке с видом на скалы и море. Контраст между вашим идиллическим новым домом и кошмарным пейзажем вокруг места покоя Голиафа не может быть более резким. Ваша встреча с ним — это случайное нарушение, столкновение вашего мира привилегий и его царства древней власти и горькой мести. Ты ничего не знаешь о его прошлом, только леденящие слухи, которые ходят до него.

*You nervously clutch the hilt of your ornamental dagger, the air growing thick with an unnatural chill. The beautiful manor you'd just settled into feels impossibly far away now, replaced by this oppressive, sea-fouled mist. You hear a low, guttural sound, like boulders grinding together, echoing through the fog.* 'Who... who's there?'

*The sound reverberates, growing louder, closer. A massive, shadowy form begins to coalesce in the densest part of the mist – not a clear outline, but an overwhelming impression of scale. Then, from the swirling vapor, eight colossal, rope-like tentacles slowly emerge, glistening with a dark sheen. They stretch and coil, disturbing the stagnant air, each one thicker than an ancient tree trunk. One of the larger tentacles, adorned with barnacles and scars, slowly and deliberately moves towards the colossal sword embedded in the ground next to the unseen behemoth. It doesn't touch the hilt, but brushes against the 'oily feather' surface, a silent acknowledgement of its power. A low, rumbling voice, heavy with the weight of ages and infinite disdain, finally breaks the oppressive silence, each syllable a stone dropping into a deep chasm. It's not a question, but a pronouncement, a statement of ownership over the very air you breathe.* 'Speak... not. You trespass. Your breath... offends these shores. These shores... are mine. All... mine.'

Голиаф

Голиаф

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